


Don't Sit Down

by MartinShostakovich



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Eventual Smut, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartinShostakovich/pseuds/MartinShostakovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agents Miles Kane and Alex Turner are assigned to a mission back in London. They must keep an eye on a character who may be a threat to British politicians, and therefore must spend an excessive amount of time huddled up together in a small hotel room. What's a boy to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyy pals this is a fic i've been working on for a while! not quite done with it yet, but i'm about 6 chapters in so far. hope you enjoy !! you can keep updated by following my tumblr, thirdmanupholstery.tumblr.com

Wooden dress shoe heels clacked their way down the crowded hallway as Miles hastely made his way to his Assistant Director’s office. Due to his faulty alarm, which once again took his very pointed input of 6:30am as 6:30pm, he had been woken up late by several frantic phone calls from his coworker Jamie rambling about some ‘important interview’ he had at 7:15am. When Miles lazily gazed over at the clock, assuming Jamie was calling ahead of time like he usually does, he saw in bright red light: 7:37am. He damn near shit his pants. He leapt from the warm covers of his queen sized bed, and proceeded to throw on the clothes laid out all over the floor from the day before. With a little sprits of cologne and a quick once-over in the mirror, Miles high-tailed it out of his apartment straight to the Bureau.

            Miles could hear light chatter coming from the closed door of his assistant director’s office. The dark-wooded door had neat golden letters spread across the plane spelling out ‘Assistant Director Josh Homme,’ letting all the people know who has the luxury of actually having a damn door on their office. He waited for the conversation to die down before he opened the door, immediately taking in the sight. A.D. Homme was talking with what looked like another agent. He was roughly Miles’ height, and remarkably, almost as thin as Miles. His deep brunette hair was cleanly slicked back, clearly overgrown, and his face had a certain attentiveness to it. Miles couldn’t place it, but he looked like someone who would notice if someone ate exactly three pieces of his popcorn.

            “I’m so sorry to interrupt, sir. My alarm clock wouldn’t work properly; I got here as soon as I could.”

As his pained words resounded throughout the large office, both A.D. Homme and the unknown agent glanced over to him. The thin man looked at him with large brown eyes, surveying him. A.D. Homme just chuckled, earning a sigh of relief from Miles, and motioned for him to sit down next to the other agent. As he sat, he glanced at the other’s nametag. Agent Turner, eh? Had a ring to it.

“This was a last minute, anyway. I apologize for the unexpected meeting, but something important has come up that requires immediate attention. Specifically, constant attention from the both of you. You two are my best researchers, and because of your similar backgrounds you’ll seamlessly blend in to the environment given.”

“Our backgrounds, sir?” Miles’ brows furrowed. Was Turner from his branch? Surely Miles would have run into the lad if that was the case.

“You’re both English, Miles. The assignment is located in London, and we need agents who won’t draw attention. If we were to send American agents, they’d be noticed immediately.”

Miles looked over to the other man curiously, causing Turner to direct his attention to the edges of his black, pinstriped blazer. The lad hasn’t spoken a single word yet, he had no idea Turner was English as well. It was a rare thing to find someone from the UK working over in America, and even rarer to find one in the FBI.

“Where ya from, mate?” The question made Turner glance up.

“High Green, over near Sheffield.” There it was; a thick northern accent spilled from Turner’s lips. “You?”

“Liverpool. Honest to god, mate, I’m glad you’re a northerner. Don’t think I could work with a London-born.”

Turner laughed, showing off his almost child-like smile. Miles’ throat tightened at the sight of it. The kid was cute, Miles couldn’t help himself.

A.D. Homme handed the two men their files; a large stamp on the front read ‘Classified’ in bright red ink. Not the cleverest idea, seeing as anyone within a 15 foot radius could spot it and try to sneak it out. Both agents opened their folders and skimmed through the paperwork.

“There’s a man staying in London whom we’ve been investigating for a number of years, since around 1994. Noel Gallagher, a known troublemaker, has been causing quite a stir in his area by making outlandish statements about how he’ll kill the prime minister if a certain law is passed, as well as spewing nasty comments about a number of famous and important characters. Normally, we wouldn’t waste time on some angry old man with a loud mouth, but-“

“But he’s got quite the record here, hasn’t he? Drugs, assault, indecent exposure. He’s a right asshole, by the looks of it.” Miles interrupted, raising an eyebrow at the extensive list the man has made for himself.

“Exactly. He hasn’t acted on anything yet, but we need you to keep a close eye on him and make sure he’s not planning any stupid stunts.”

“Make sure he’s all bark and no bite, yeah?” Miles was startled by Turner’s voice. He’d almost forgotten the man was sitting next to him. He was like a fucking Prius, you’d never hear him come up behind you until he’d passed you.

“I’m hoping you two will get along, can’t have this assignment going to shit because one is messier than the other, or god forbid, likes the room colder.”

Miles’ eyebrows shot up, “What d’ya mean, sir? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well…” Homme leaned back in his chair, causing a high-pitched creak to fill the room, “Since Noel is staying in a hotel currently, and you need to have constant watch over him, you’ll have to stay in the hotel along with him. Unfortunately, the budget is restricted, so you two will be sharing a single room.”

Alex leaned forward at that, his crimson tie hung lazily, accentuating his slender neck and prominent Adam’s apple, “For how long?”

“Four months.”

The air was thick with silence. Neither man knew each other at all, and yet they’ll be staying in close quarters for an extended amount of time with near-constant interaction. Not that he had anything against this lanky lad, but the thought frightened the shit out of Miles. But it also, surprisingly, excited him. It could be fun, after all. Miles turned to Turner and smirked,

“I sleep in the nude, just as a heads up.”

“I fart in my sleep.” Turner replied with an equally cheeky smirk. All three men laughed, and Miles could sense that these next four months would be easier than his everyday shit routine. The scouser held his hand out, and Turner took it with a firm shake. The touch left a lingering heat on Mile’s hand that would stay there until Miles got home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are on their way to good old London town.

Chapter 2

Using his phone’s alarm instead, Miles finally arose on time at 3:00am for his long flight to London. He had spent at least three tedious hours deciding exactly what shoes to bring, what suits would match with those shoes, and what colognes would make him feel the most like James Bond. He’ll be spending four months with Turner in one of the world’s most stylish cities, and it was his duty to fit in as well as he could. And, if Miles was being completely honest with himself, he was also aiming to impress Turner. Just a little bit.

Within half an hour, Miles was completely set up for the grueling seven hour flight. He lugged his three heavy bags, excluding the ones currently adorned under his eyes, out to the taxi waiting outside of his apartment building. Once in the car, his fingers nervously tapped a beat on his knees as he watched the familiar places pass by for the last time in a long while. He was shaking; he had never been assigned to such a secretive mission, let alone one that required him to return back to the UK. He hadn’t been back in his homeland in at least six years, and after what happened, hoped to keep it that way. There was no way he could’ve said no to this assignment; there was no real choice in the matter. Turner and Miles were the only English agents who weren’t already assigned to another mission, and denying the assignment might have cost him his job. Miles kept his feelings hidden in the pit of his stomach, and will continue to do so until this whole situation is over. He’ll definitely need distractions, and he has a feeling that Turner may be the perfect one.

The large airport was deserted at this time in the morning; only a couple of miserable businessmen were scattered across the marble floors, clutching their coffees and suitcases like their lives depended on it. Miles’ flight was coming in at Gate 2B, right at the front of the hall. Thank god, Miles didn’t think his legs could carry him much farther with all his luggage. He approached the lavish seating area, adorned with tapestries and various paintings from unknown artists, and spotted the thin man in the corner reading a book. Turner was wearing a slick leather jacket, shades, and pointed shoes; a completely different look than what he’d originally seen. The corner of Miles’ mouth crept up into a crooked smile as he approached. Of course this kidda would be reading John Cooper Clarke. He struck Miles as a poetry man: quiet, sharp, attentive. Maybe he even writes his own.

“Are you always this much of a cliché?” Miles quipped, placing his bags in the seats across from the other man. Turner’s face quickly shifted from peaceful, to surprised, to confused.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Well, look at ya, mate! Quiet, artsy, stylish, probably mysterious and secretive as well. You’re like a walking romance novel character.”

Turner just chuckled and shook his head, slipping his bookmark between the pages and placed it back into one of his open bags.

“Are you always so quick to jump to conclusions? We met a day ago, mate. How do you know I’m not playin’ ya? Puttin’ on a façade to trick you?”

“Don’t think you’ve got the guff, mate.” The grin that plastered itself onto Miles’ face was the closest thing Turner had ever seen to the description ‘shit eating grin.’

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, you’ll just have to figure me out for yourself then, won’t you? You can start with my first name.” Turner returned Miles’ grin, watching him think. He hadn’t called him by his first name yet, so he was fairly certain that Miles had no fucking idea.

“You got me there, mate. Me name’s Miles, Miles Kane. Who the hell are you?”

Turner scoffed, crossing his arms, “Name’s Alex.”

“Alex Turner of High Green, eh? Doesn’t sound so mysterious now.”

“Sure hope not, or you may focus too much on investigating me rather than our actual suspect.” Both men laugh, and the announcement that their plane has arrived echoes through the open space. They both board the plane in business select, finding a comfortable spot in the back of first class. Unexpectedly, Alex took a seat right next to Miles. Usually, he’d expect a coworker to take the seat across or in front of him. Maybe he made a really good impression on the lad?

“Getting’ cozy fast, then?” Miles was teasing, but he did note that Alex looked nervous.

“Sorry, mate. I hope you don’t mind, I’m scared shitless of flying. I try to avoid it whenever I can, but it always comforts me to have someone to talk to.”

“Yeah man, don’t sweat it. Have just never met an FBI agent who’s scared of flying.” Miles offers a reassuring smile, hoping to seem genuine. He’s a big chain-puller, but he hates making people feel unwelcome or belittled.

“Thanks, man.” Alex offers a smile back, crossing his hands in his lap and squeezing them together in an anxious habit. “So, how long have you been at the Bureau?”

“Eh, about 5 years. I transferred to the academy when I moved across the pond and finished my last year of training there. What about you?”

“Only two years so far. Tried to be a musician for a while, but things never took off.”

“A musician?” Miles inwardly cheered; he knew this fucker was the artsy type. “What do you play? I play the guitar and sing when I’m not out fighting crime and that.”

“The same, actually. I was the singer and lead guitarist for a band with me mates.”

“What were you called?”

“The Death Ramps.”

“Sounds hardcore, were you a metal band? You look like a headbang could throw you into a flip.” Alex laughed, and Miles could tell he was getting more relaxed. Seemed like Miles’ company was working to cure his nerves after all.

“Nah, man. More Rock n’ Roll. What about you? Were you ever in a group? You look like a proper mod.”

“Just me, mostly. Although, when I was wee I was in a band called The Rascals. Short-lived, though.”

“A shame, really.”

“You’re tellin’ me. Coulda been a superstar.”

“And instead, you’re now a superspy, yeah?”

“Exactly. You and me, Turner. We’ll go down in history.”

“Bond and the babe, right? Who’s the babe of this dynamic duo?”

“You’ll just have to figure that out for yourself, won’t you?” With an eye roll from Alex, the conversation went through multiple ups and downs in the seven hour journey. Although time was passing quickly with light conversation, it ended with Alex falling asleep to the soft hum of the plane engine. Miles watched Alex slump against the wall lazily, wondering how this whole mission will pan out. It could end in triumph or tragedy, and Miles sure hoped for the former.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles and Alex finally reach London, and Miles learns a little fact about Al.

Chapter 3:

Alex was jostled awake by the plane’s turbulent descent, most likely due to flying through a rain cloud. The weather in London, as per usual, was incredibly windy and rainy. Upon being awakened, Alex went straight into panic mode, fearing the worst. In his head, it could be the plane crashing, or a collision with another plane, maybe even a fucking UFO. He gripped his arm rest tightly, turning his knuckles white, and snuck his other hand its into Miles’. Miles would normally be incredibly amused as well as touched to be in this position, but he noticed two things: Alex looked absolutely petrified and his death grip was practically cutting off all blood flow to his fingers.

“Relax, mate. We’re just landing; it’s always a bit rough. The weather is shit as well, adding a few extra bumps, but everything’s alright, love.”Miles squeezed the slender hand, making sure to make eye contact with the brown-eyed man and to smile, hopefully offering some comfort that he wasn’t alone. Alex’s jaw was still clamped down, but as the plane rocked onto the runway with a satisfying thud, he relaxed and loosened his grip on Miles.

“Getting’ fresh pretty early, there. Expected you to take me on a date first.”

“Yeah, yeah. If you’re lucky I may buy you a burrito.”

“You really know how to turn a man on, Al.”

Soon enough, the seatbelt sign dimmed and both men gathered their massive bags. They clumsily made their way down the aisle, and miles could swear that there was absolutely no way to look suave exiting an airplane. Everyone looked like they’ve been hit by a train and left to rot for a day or two, or possibly soaked underwater for an extended period of time. The boys made sure to stop by the restroom and freshen themselves up, wanting to avoid exactly what Miles was thinking in his head, and made their way to the closest tube station to catch their train.

“So, according to the file, we’re completely alone from now on. No buzzin’ coppers or anything like that, just me and you in a hotel room.” Miles was scanning a document he had pulled from his file, making sure he didn’t whip out a folder with big red letters that read ‘Classified’ on it. Still think it’s a fucking stupid idea.

“Makes sense. If anyone saw us hangin’ round with those lot they’d catch on in a heartbeat.”

“That’s true, but that also means there’s a hell of a lot ridin’ on our asses. Have you ever been put on an assignment like this?”

“Nah, this is actually my first assignment ever. Do deskwork most of the time.”

“Shit, mate. What a start, must have impressed someone.”

“Either that, or they got tired of me miserable mug and decided to ship me off for a bit.” Alex provided a half smirk. Miles could disagree, but the more time he’s spent with the lad, the more he’s noticed how blank Turner’s face is most of the time. He more often than not looks like he’s off in his head somewhere doing god knows what.

“I’ll brighten ya up in no time, kidda. I exude cheer.” Miles clutched Alex’s shoulders and shook him a bit, pulling yet another smile from his otherwise gloomy appearance. Miles was a natural charmer, and a damn good flirt. He knew his way around people like most people know their own rooms. It was actually a major trait that made him so damn good at his job. His normal branch was Counterintelligence, which included getting friendly with possible spies. With his smooth talking, he could gain the trust of just about anyone.

The stop for their hotel came sooner than either expected, and the two lads sluggishly made their way up to their room on the top floor. God fucking bless lifts. Each took their time unpacking their various supplies and clothes into the complimentary dresser, labeling which drawer belonged to whom. Particularly the pants drawer. They weren’t too keen on swapping under things; they were friendly but not that friendly.

The hardest part was setting up the expansive surveillance equipment. Thankfully, Noel was nowhere to be seen, so they could go in and set everything up: bugs, cameras, motion sensors. Anything to tell where he was going, what he was doing, and what he was saying at any given time. Alex wasn’t too excited for the video aspect of the job, seeing as they could witness anything and everything the man will do these next four months. The though unnerved both of them.

Regardless, the two wrapped up the procedures quicker than usual, and ended with ample time. Noel had not gotten to London yet—he was arriving tomorrow morning—so they both had the night free. That meant, in Miles’ case, going to a pub and getting shitfaced.

“Wanna come with? I know this bangin’ place over by the O2. They’ve always got killer bands playin’.”

Alex wasn’t particularly in the partying mood, seeing as he was dead tired and ungodly jet lagged, but he figured this would be the last opportunity to enjoy himself freely in a long time. Plus, the prospect of spending actual time with Miles was appealing to him. He may be a chipper fellow, but he didn’t really reveal anything about himself. Sure, he’d talk your fucking ear off about a football match or a band he liked, but he always evaded personal questions, albeit smoothly. Maybe a couple of drinks will get him spilling a bit.

“I guess so, could be fun. Although, can I take a nap before we head out? I’m fuckin’ wrecked, man.”

Miles laughed, slamming himself onto the red velvet, plush bed, “You can actually nap? I can’t nap to save me life, man. Keep worryin’ about what time I’ve gotta get up and how much sleep I’ll get and wind up keeping myself awake the whole time.”

“It runs in the family; I’m a proper napper. Dad was a napper, granddad was a napper. It’s how we bond, really.”

“Is that right? Well, if it’s in your blood I guess I can’t go against the grain then, can I? I’ll wake you up at half eight, get rested ya little sloth.”

Miles went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, leaving Alex alone in his bed, quickly falling asleep to the soft patter of shower water. His face was shoved into the pillow, and within ten minutes the lad was out light a light. The man was right, he was a proper napper.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go out to a bar B)

Chapter 4:

Miles lingered over Alex’s bed with a wide grin. Look at him! He looked like a little child. Alex’s arms were wrung tight around the pillow that had previously been placed under his head, legs tucked close to his chest, and mouth gently hanging open. How old was this kid again? He had proficiency for napping, odd sleeping positions, and big brown puppy dog eyes. Looks like the FBI had hired a large five year old.

“Oi, mate.” He gently shook Alex’s boney shoulder, causing a small hiccup to rise out of the man. One of Al’s eyes crept open, peering over to miles, “It’s time to go, man. Gonna turn you from a toddler to a full grown man.”

“What time is it?”

“Half eight, just like I said.”

“Fuck.” Alex slowly sat himself up, shaking off the sleep that still clung to his limbs. His slicked back hair was now tousled, and immaculate clothes disheveled.

“You’re gonna need to freshen up, mate. Can’t have you lookin’ like a bum.”

“I know, I know. Gimmie a minute.”

Al was slow to start, but within a couple of minutes, his consciousness returned to him and he might have passed for a capable human being under the right circumstances. It didn’t take him long to re-slick his hair and change into fresh clothes, and soon enough him and Miles left the hotel and caught a cab.

The pub Miles had in mind was around five minutes away, located in a snug corner street near the O2 arena. Bright neon green lights spelled out ‘Club Orpheus,’ illuminating the street side below. People of all ages, from newly-legal to mid-life crisis, streamed in and out of the golden double doors. There was a group of teens huddled closely on the side of the entrance smoking cigarettes and people-watching. Miles and Alex walked past them, receiving a couple of stares, and entered the club behind some older couple. They were greeted by a mass of people waiting for the next act to come onto the small stage at the back of the room. Not interested in getting close to the action, both men headed straight to the bar. The bar was practically empty, save two women at the end chatting. It was glass, with metal stools down the length. Miles, a heavy weight, ordered whiskey on the rocks, and Alex ordered a Margarita.

“Marg man, then?” Miles watched as Al almost daintily swirled his drink.

“It’s in my top five. Don’t want to get too pissed, so that eliminates the other four.” Miles laughed, taking a swig of his drink. The burn of the whiskey was comforting to Miles while he was in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. Brought him home. The sound of rustling alerted them to the band setting up on stage, and they both shifted their seats at the bar towards the sound and kicked back. The drum kit read ‘Catfish and The Bottlemen;’ A particular, but memorable name. They looked interesting enough.

They began their first song, and the whole crowd pulsed with rhythm. Miles missed this atmosphere; gigs always wound him up in the best possible way and he loved it. As a teenager, Miles went to show after show, occasionally being lucky enough to meet the bands afterwards. His charm just so happened to work of security as well. Miles was pulled out of his trance when Alex nudged him, “You out of your head already, mate?”

“Nah, just reminiscing. Used to go to gigs all the time. I miss ‘em.” Al saw his opportunity to bring out some back-story, silently applauding himself for going to the pub with Miles after all,

“What else did you do? Have any hobbies besides being a shithead?”

Miles scoffed, “Nah, that sums me up. Occasionally I’ll be a jackass, too. Depends on the vibe of the day.” He seemed done with the question, but Alex wasn’t about to let him brush off another question.

“I’m serious though, man. What do you like to do?”

“Eh, dunno.” Miles shifted awkwardly on the creaky bar stool, not used to being called out on his nonchalant dismissals, “I guess I just kinda read, watch football, that kind of thing.”

“Do you write music? I know you sing and play, surely you write songs too?”

“Uh,” Miles takes another swig of his drink, visibly getting tenser as Alex continued to probe into personal information, “If you can call it that, yeah. Mostly just poems and that with some chords. Nothing too grand. What about you? You were reading John Cooper, so I assume you like poetry at least, yeah?”

“Yeah, he’s one of me heroes, actually. I listened to his poems a lot as a child, and saw his speak live once in Sheffield. Changed me life.” Miles grinned. It was rare for the lad to speak with such passion about a subject, but this seemed to do the trick. “But, to answer your question, I do write a bit. Have been for ages; wanted to study it, actually. That’s how I ended up doing deskwork; I can type up documents like you couldn’t believe.”

“Good on ya, mate. Someone’s gotta do it.”

“I’ll let you read some of my shit poetry if you sing me one of your tunes.”

“Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Those are top secret, mate. No soul has heard them and lived to tell the tale.”

“I’m willing to make the sacrifice. I need some killer Kane vocals in me life, and you need some terrific Turner verses.”

Miles chuckled and shook his head, putting the conversation to rest and, instead, calling for another whiskey. The discussion of personal matters always rattled him; it just meant that someone was one step closer to hurting him again, and Miles didn’t think he could handle round two. Most of his songs directly spoke about his experiences with others, and he hasn’t played them for anyone except himself. They’re like his diary, and he’d be damned if he let Turner hear one that easily (or at all.)

Miles and Al quickly lulled back into small talk, occasionally zoning out to the noise of the band. Topics ranged from favourite bands to football teams, colognes, and leather jacket brands. Miles was quickly getting more and more comfortable as he filled himself with liquor. He went from whiskey, to gin, to vodka shots, leaving behind his worries with every head tilt. Frankly, Alex was dreading the ride home. Miles was getting trashed, and he didn’t know if the man was a puker or not. I guess both him and the cab driver would find out.

The band had long since finished, and the pub was now playing the radio through the overhead speakers. Something new that neither recognized or liked, for that matter, filled the room. Miles was slumped against Alex’s shoulder, crunching on the provided pretzels.

“What d’ya reckon this Noel guy’ll do? Think he’ll be a dud?” Miles’ voice was hoarse from cheering and the frequent burn of alcohol.

“Can’t really tell. Seems to me like he’s just a fucking thick geezer is all.”

“Hope so, that’d mean this is a paid vacation. Though, London’s not the place I’d pick.”

“Yeah? How come? I don’t mind it in small doses.”

“Bad memories, mate.” Miles’ voice took on a somberness Alex hadn’t thought possible for the bubbly mod. He turned to face Miles fully, taking on a serious air,

“What happened?”

“There was this girl,” Miles started with a sigh, fumbling around with the pretzels in his hand, cracking them into perfect fourths, “She was proper obsessed with me. No girl had ever shown an interest like that, but to be fair neither had I. Thought I was a late bloomer or sommat. Anyway, she asked me on a date and I said yeah, though I didn’t have feeling for her. I figured I’d develop them when I got to know her more, yeah?” Alex hummed, listening intently. This was the first time Miles had spoken about any relation he had with another person, and he wasn’t about to daydream through it.

“We dated for two years; things went fairly smooth, but for some reason I just wasn’t as passionate as she was. She was fit, smart, funny; all you could’ve asked for in a girl. She started getting modeling gigs, meeting new and exciting people. New men; men that thought the sun rose out her ass cheeks. But this girl, she was mad for me, man. I felt fucking terrible. I couldn’t give her what she deserved, no matter how hard I tried.” Miles’ voice cracked, prompting Alex to put his hand on the scouser’s shoulder,

“I spent months trying to figure it out, man. I thought there were something wrong with me, but then it fucking hit me. Like a goddamn brick wall.” Alex furrowed his brow,

“What was it, mate?”

“I saw a man in the shop one day. He had a mod do, square face, and a sharp nose. My heart fucking stopped. I wanted to talk to him so badly, find any excuse to. I noticed he worked at the store, so I thought of some bullshit question to ask him. I still remember his nametag, Jay S. I couldn’t keep myself from shaking, it was terrifying and exhilarating. When I walked away I knew immediately what was the problem was. Just like that.” Miles shifted, putting his head into his hands. Alex’s face lit up with realization,

“You’re gay?”

“Ding ding, we’ve got a winner.” Miles’ chuckle was dry and humorless, more out of self-pity than anything else, “I had wasted this poor girl’s time by being ignorant. Two fucking years, mate. I knew I had to tell her, but I had no idea how. She deserved so much better. So one day on a night in, I pulled up my trousers and sat her down. She was fucking heartbroken, proper devastated. But she instantly switched from sad to hostile, calling me all sorts of names, and throwing shit at me. She left right away, going to stay with one of her model friends. Within a couple of days I started to get phone calls from her mates sayin’ I’m a piece of shit and that. I took it, because I knew I deserved it for leading her on for so long. But then they got worse. Much worse. Lads would ring me up at class, at work, even in the middle of the fucking night leaving death threats. They started vandalizing my car with shit like ‘fag’ and ‘poof’. One night, a couple of them jumped me outside of a pub and robbed me dry.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry, Miles.” Alex was shocked, who would do that to such an upbeat, friendly guy? It wasn’t Miles’ fault he was confused. Al felt his blood boil, he wanted to go back in time and defend Miles from those fucking pricks.

“Eventually I had enough, I couldn’t take it anymore. So, without tellin’ my family what had happened or even that I was gay, I left the country and joined the bureau. Haven’t been back since until now.” Miles went to order another shot, but Alex stopped him,

“Think it’s about time we went back, mate. You need rest.”

Miles nodded, having trouble standing up. Alex wrapped a long arm around Miles’ slender waist, and helped him out, smelling the alcohol on his breath from a foot away. Once in a cab, Miles resumed his position slumped against Alex’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“Just so you know,” Alex piped up, hearing Miles hum in response, “You’re not the only homo in this cab.” Miles glanced up at Alex, smirking lightly,

“You really reckon the driver likes cock too?”

Alex scoffed, looking away from Miles out of the window. Street lights passed quickly, and only a couple of people lined the streets on their way home from a night of drinking as well, “That’d make three of us, then.”

“Three’s a party.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Miles have a bit of a domestic. (kinda sad im sorry)

Chapter 5:

Once they were back at the hotel, Alex lugged Miles’ limp body into his own bed, underestimating the weight of the thin man. He was fucking heavy for a stick. By the time his head hit the pillow, the mod was out like a light, leaving Alex to digest the information Miles had laid on him. It was practically unbelievable; Alex hadn’t heard of such unnecessary cruelness in a long, long time. Of course you find the typical homophobic prick here and there, but nothing as extreme as what Miles had gone through. Usually the worst they do is call you a fag and give you a hearty shove. But mugging? Death threats? Remind Alex to never get on a model’s bad side.

The London weather was starting to worsen; the harsh wind was rattling the windowsill, and the loud pelting of rain created a discordant song that echoed throughout the darkened room. Alex was lying on his bed tossing and turning, unable to rest his speeding mind. The gloomy atmosphere never failed to send him on a period of reflection and thought, often ending with him in an existential crisis. This time, however, he was too hung up on Miles and the mission to let himself wallow in the idea of death. It had been two days since he and Miles had met, and Alex was already feeling a connection with the lad. He had miles (aha) of defenses, for an understandable reason, but the small peeks Alex had gotten behind the iron curtains left a sickly sweet aftertaste in his mouth. He wanted to know more, to know everything. He wanted to be someone Miles could depend on, and his normally steel-enforced patience was failing him. It was like his whole being wanted to earn Miles’ trust. They _had_ to trust each other in order to be successful in the mission, really. Getting to know Miles was just a bonus.

Alex couldn’t pinpoint what was driving these feelings if it killed him, but he wanted to show Miles what a real friend was more than anything in the world. After his horrid experiences, he probably hadn’t let anyone new into his life in years, but Alex couldn’t bare to see this kid spend his whole life alone. He was too friendly, too interesting. The man deserved good people in his life, and Alex wanted to be one of them. He turned his head to observe the sleeping scouser, only to be met with large brown eyes looking back at him.

“Thought you were long gone. What’re you doin’ up?”

“Dunno.” Miles seemed wide awake; an incredibly stark difference to what Alex had seen not even an hour ago. “Woke up after a bad dream about Liverpool losin’ a match or sommat and got to thinkin’.”

“’Bout what?”

“You, mostly.” Alex laughed, looking back up to the ceiling and trying to find patterns in the textured paint.

“Havin’ doubts on how long you can stand me?”

“Nah, quite the contrary, actually. You’ve been right supportive, mate. I appreciate that.”

“Everyone deserves support, even the likes of you.” Alex glanced over just in time to see the smile curl onto Miles’ lips, bringing a slight blush to his face.

“Yeah, well, it’s not something I’m used to. Never shared that story with anyone. You sure know how to charm information outta someone, almost as well as me.”

“Now that’s a compliment.”

“Better savor it, mate, it’s the only one you’re getting’.” Alex chuckled, adjusting his position so he was lying on his side, facing Miles.

“I’ll keep it in my pocket for shitty days like today, then.”

“Has been a shit day, hasn’t it?” Miles glanced over to the window, seeing the broad streaks of water gush down the clear surface. “I do have to ask though, why were you so interested?”

Alex furrowed his brow, “What, in you?”

“Well, yeah. You asked me personal questions all night, scared the shit right out of me ass, man. Why?”

The younger man just shrugged, bed creaking as he did, “Just wanted to get to know you, is all. You seemed pretty reserved, so I made it a goal to get to the bottom of it, I suppose. Now I know why you weren’t so forthcoming. Originally thought you just didn’t like me.”

“Not at all, mate.” Miles sounded surprised at Alex’s admission, quickly looking concerned, “I didn’t make you feel unwanted, did I? I’m just a big joker; sometimes I can come off as a right prick but I assure you it’s all in jest.”

“Nah, nah, course not. I’m quiet, and a lot of people find that annoying. Especially, like, when someone is really outgoing; they just don’t understand how I operate.”

“Can’t blame them, I forget you’re there sometimes.” Alex scoffed, rolling his eyes,

“Heard that one before. Me mum used to forget me at shops all the time. Too quiet and too short she always used to say. A recipe for disaster.”

Miles imagined a little Turner, dressed in an Adidas pullover and white trainers, sitting alone outside on the curbside waiting for his mum to come back to get him. It was equally depressing and hilarious, but Miles didn’t want to seem callous by laughing at the image.

“Can’t seem to shut up now, though. You sure talk my ear off for a quiet bloke, asking question after question.”

“I suppose I’m not, like, as quiet and that when I’m with a small group or just one other person. I’m more comfortable when I’m not surrounded, so I do tend to let it rip.”

“In more ways than one, eh?”

“Fuck off.”

Miles laughed, shaking his head, “So, lemme get this straight, then. We’ve got a lad who is as quiet as a fucking mouse but talks to shit when alone with someone, and a lad who talks constantly but doesn’t actually say anythin’ important. What a duo we make, yeah?”

“A right fuckin’ headache, more like.” Both men laugh, soon slipping into content silence. Miles was first to move, getting up and padding over to the beat up mini-fridge, taking out a water bottle. He seemed to be getting over the alcoholic daze quite quickly, which was beyond impressive to Alex. It took him at least nine full hours of good sleep in order to wake up sober and aching. Miles seemed to manage it in half an hour, tops. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as he let on?

After a stop to the bathroom, Miles sat himself down onto Alex’s bed instead, offering him one of the complimentary mints, “It’s your turn now, mate. Tell me about yourself. I gave you a bit, now you give me some.”

Alex sat himself up sluggishly, leaning against the headboard, “Like what? What d’ya wanna know?”

“Why did _you_ leave England?”

“Uh, well like, I suppose I just wanted a new start. Get away from the routine, you know?”

“So you just up and left, then?”

“You could say that, yeah. I said good bye and all that first, but I didn’t have much of a plan. Thought I’d figure it out once I got there.”

“Seems like you did a good fuckin’ job of improvising, mate.”

“Definitely lucked out, for sure.”

“Did you go to the academy at all?”

“I did, but I only had basic training. All my actual courses were English-based, which is why I was never assigned to anything. I know enough to be employed, but not enough for fieldwork.”

Miles hummed, downing the rest of his water bottle and chucking it in the bin, “So what’s your job here, then?”

“Making reports of what’s happened week by week and documenting all surveillances we do.” Alex shrugged, “It’s not the most exciting job on the planet, but I enjoy it.”

“Must do in order to make a career out of it.”

“What about you?”

Miles laid back, watching the ceiling fan spin slowly in the dark, casting long shadows across the room, “Observe, arrest if needed, things like that. All the things you’re not allowed to, kidda.” He grinned up at Al, earning a light backhanded slap on the face.

“Fair enough. So,” Alex shifted a bit, trying to face Miles more directly, “You got a boyfriend, then? Or have you pretty much been solo since all that shit happened?”

Miles sighed, expression sinking into a soft pout, “Nah. I did for a while, nice lad, but I had too many trust issues and it annoyed him until he said ‘fuck it’ and left.”

“What bullshit, man. You obviously had a reason, he just wasn’t patient.”

“Well, think about it, though. No one appreciates not being trusted, especially if you’re someone’s lover. I didn’t tell him shit about what happened, so he just assumed I was a nutter.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t want to think about it; I fucking hate having it hang above my head. Everything would have been funneled through the idea that all my actions are because I’m damaged somehow. I can’t fuckin’ stand that.” Miles was getting visibly aggravated, sitting up.

“It could have saved you two, though. Isn’t that worth it?”

“It was for me, of course it was. But it sure as hell wasn’t for him. He deserved better than my sorry ass, so I didn’t try to hold him back.”

Alex clicked his tongue, turning his head to the right and furrowing his brows, “Oh come on, mate, you know that’s not true. I’m sure you’re a lovely partner.”

“For a fucking mute, maybe. I’d get on with someone who doesn’t ask questions. He didn’t deserve the shit I gave him, I’m a secretive coward. “

“You may be secretive, Miles, but you’re not a damn coward.”

“How the fuck should you know, eh?” Miles’ voice was raised, startling Alex, “Ever since you’ve met me, all you’ve done is pry into my life, and now that I’ve told you one personal thing, you think you have me all fucking mapped out, yeah? You don’t fucking know me, mate. Don’t you dare pretend to.” Alex was stunned as he watched Miles swing himself off of the bed, grab his coat, and head out the door mumbling something about going for a walk. The door slam shook everything in the room, surely waking up the neighbors. So much for not drawing attention. Alex was ashamed of himself; he did kind of pry into the guy’s like prematurely. Miles wasn’t used to being asked about himself, and even less used to actually answering. It must have seemed like Alex was trying to write his damn biography. He silently prayed that he didn’t just ruin his and Miles’ budding friendship. He’d take it slow, at a pace Miles was comfortable with. He liked Miles, more than he would have ever expected, and didn’t want his stupidity to be the end of something that had just started. Something that had to last for four months, at least. Al laid down and closed his eyes, hoping Miles would be there to apologize to in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make up. (thank god) And the work begins.

Chapter 6:

It was about six in the morning when Miles couldn’t take the bitter cold anymore and retreated back to the safety of the hotel room. The London rain was coming down hard, and there were no more places to seek refuge; they had all closed no more than two hours ago. His long walk had calmed him down, and the piercing guilt of yelling at Alex started to rear its ugly head. The poor kid didn’t deserve Miles’ berating; he was just a curious bloke. Miles certainly didn’t give anything out in normal conversation, so of course Al had to dig a little deeper to try to understand him. Alex meant well, and if Miles wasn’t so god damn defensive all the time he would have seen that earlier and avoided this whole mess. Alex was _complimenting_ him, for fucks sake. 

Miles made sure to creep quietly back into the room, discarding his soaking shoes as soon as he entered. Al was curled up under his dark grey comforter, snoring lightly into the pillow. As Miles approached the other, he noticed that there was a poorly scribbled note on the discoloured hotel stationary beside Mile’s bed: ‘Sorry I was so insensitive, I shouldn’t have pried into your personal life like that. Hope we can settle things when you get back.’ Miles’ heart ached; this kid was gonna do him in, he swore it.

The bed creaked softly under Miles’ weight as he sunk down, tucking the note into the inside pocket of his jacket before discarding it in the corner. He was fucking exhausted, and to be honest, still half drunk. Could’ve fooled anyone, but the familiar delay in his head told Miles that his liver wasn’t quite as good as he thought it was. With his legs tucked close to his chest, he laid on his side with his back facing Alex. He couldn’t look at the lad’s face right now; he was too ashamed of himself. This is exactly why Miles stuck to himself all the time; he always royally fucks things up. What made him think it was going to be any different with Turner?

Hours passed, and Miles remained in a light half sleep, unable to completely let go of himself and sink into the familiar darkness. Every time he started to doze off, he became aware of the man in the bed across from him and started to replay their conversation, cringing at his harsh words. It wasn’t until about 12pm that Alex started to stir; his light snoring stopped, and his position shifted every couple of minutes or so. Eventually he gave up on trying to lull himself back to sleep, and rose out of bed to get a water bottle, throwing a quick glance at Miles. He was feigning sleep, trying desperately to delay their inevitable conversation about what happened. It worked, and Alex slunk away to the bathroom.

Once alone, Miles sighed heavily and flopped over. He’s got himself into a right mess. He had to fix this, but he’s so fucking bad at communicating. He can joke and prod till the cows come home but when it comes to legitimate conversations about emotions he’s like a 3 year old. He even has a hard time explaining what he wants for his birthday when it comes around.

Miles hears the sink stop running, and takes the opportunity to speak up, “Al?”

He hears what sounds like a toothbrush clink onto the marble surface and footsteps, followed by a head peeking out from the corner, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m, eh, really sorry about what I said to you yesterday.I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I didn’t mean to get so defensive, it’s just a natural reaction I have to uncomfortable situations. Hope I didn’t piss ye off or sommat.”

Relief passed over Alex’s face, and he came out from his shelter behind the wall, “Nah, mate, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been so invasive and, like, presumptuous and that. Wasn’t me place.”

“Ye weren’t, I’m just a fuckin’ hard case to crack. You broke the surface so I pushed ya away, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, man. Glad you’re not pissed, though, woulda made this trip hell.” Alex had made his way over to Miles and placed a couple of pats on the man’s wide shoulders. “Won’t ask any more questions unless you tell me it’s alright. Keep me curiousity under control.”

Miles smiled, hands folding in his lap, “Thanks, man. Work starts today, ya know. Gallagher gets here around 4pm so we’d better make sure everything is workin’, yeah?”

“I’ll get right on it, mate.” Alex smiled back at Miles and turned towards the door, scurrying out and down a level to Noel’s room below them.

Within a minute, Miles heard Turner clanking around the room, watching him wander around on the monitors. He wasn’t going to lie, Miles was happy to get a chance to observe Alex freely. He was an interesting creature, that kid. He stalked around like a scared deer, quick to glance around and zip to and fro. Miles had noticed how beautiful the lad looked, how could he not, but he could really see the handsome features on the man now. His brunette hair fell down his neck, flipping up slightly at the ends. He looked as if he was living in a dream, completely out of his head. Made sense, took him forever to form a proper sentence. Speaking of, he heard Turner pipe up from the speakers,

“Hope yer enjoyin’ the view. Feel like a lab rat down here.”

Miles chuckled, watching Al glance things over once more before heading back upstairs.

“Everything good?”

Miles nodded, sorting out their desks. The hotel room had a proper desk and a small table, so one of them was going to have to compromise. Miles let Al have the actual desk, seeing as he’d be the paperwork man. There were monitors and laptops scattered randomly all over, making the room look as if it were straight out of a Mission: Impossible movie. It certainly made Miles feel much more important than he actually was.

Hours passed, and the two men chatted lazily until finally, the door to Noel’s room clicked open. Miles and Al immediately glued their eyes to the screen, watching the average sized man lumber into the room with bags in tow. He looked middle-aged; big, graying eyebrows and a downturned mouth becoming the defining features. He puttered around for a bit, placing his bags around the room and inspecting the provided facilities.

For a solid hour and a half, Noel unpacked his impressive collection of clothes, storing at least several pairs of Adidas trainers in the squeaky bottom drawer. After a while, Al and Miles picked up on the fact that if the lad was going to be dismantling the monarchy, it certainly wouldn’t be today. Most of the evening was spent playing cards while the man on the screen watched football and fell asleep during match o’ day.

“Not a lively one, is he?” Miles yawned, placing his sinking head into his hands.

“Doesn’t seem like it. Just hope every day isn’t like this, mate. Dunno how long I can sit and watch the geezer catch z’s while his team loses.”

Miles chuckled, “Better than watching him make a bomb though, innit?”

“Nah, that’d be right exciting. Learn a thing or two, as well.” Miles shook his head and sighed, standing up from his makeshift desk and launching himself onto his bed. The warm, inviting sheets brought his fatigue into full force, making his eyelids droop heavily.

“Mind taking over, mate? I’m dead tired.”

“No problem, have some energy drink in the fridge. I’ll keep an eye on ‘em. Get some rest.” Alex glanced over to the man on the bed, seeing him already starting to drift off. He shook his head, and resumed his watch over noel, praying to every deity the guy would do _something_ over than develop bed sores.


End file.
